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Thursday, July 16, 2009

You wake up. It's Sunday Morning. There's #48 puke in your trash can. It was a good fucking night. Thats when your cell phone starts lighting up. What the fuck is your college roommate doing calling you? He moved across the country and even though you were best friends there is no fucking way you are making "phone dates" to keep in touch, so you haven't talked to him in two years.

"Hey buddy, what's going on," he says."Nothing, why the fuck are you calling me when I am hungover as shit on Sunday morning?""Listen, I got some big news."

He doesn't even have to say it. You already know. He's committing bro suicide. He's getting fucking married. You hang up the phone immediately and throw it against the wall. He calls back like 10 times and finally leaves a message. After you get tired from breaking all the shit in your room, you finally decide to listen to the voicemail.

"Bro, I'm fucking sorry. I really am, I mean she gave me an ultimatum, there was really nothing I could do." You can tell he's near tears so you start to take pity on him when he makes things all better, "Listen, I want you to be the best man, and you know what that means right? You get to plan the bachelor party!" Fucking right.

Girls rationalize that a bachelor party is the time for the groom to get all his single life out of his system once and for all. Wrong. It is a time for bros to get together to do everything in their power to get the groom-to-be aka "dead man walking" to not get married by cheating on his fiancee. In order to best convince the ex-bro-to-be to avoid staying in on Saturday nights so you can wake up early to get the paper and go to the park on Sunday morning for the rest of his life, here are a few pointers.

Get the Fuck Out of Town - This is one of the huge differences between bros and bras. When bras have their bachelorette parties, they often stay in town and go to some shitty bar. Holy shit you fucking rented a limo to go to the Irish pub to have a car bomb? How fucking crazy is that?! Girls don't go fucking apeshit on their bachelorette parties because the bride-to-be has already done a shitload of celebration. She's celebrated the engagement, the wedding planning process, the bridal shower with family, the bridal shower with friends, the bridal shower at work, not to mention the fact that she never has to diet or exercise again. Bros deserve to get the fuck out of town. This is the best way to convince the former bro/groom-to-be to cheat. If he's resistant, just #20 quote Stifler from Road Trip when he says, "It's not cheating if you aren't in the same zip code." Great destinations include Vegas and New Orleans - basically anywhere that prostitution is encouraged.

Stripper - This is a fucking must for any bachelor party. If the groom to be at any time says, "You know, Lucy isn't cool with me getting a lap dance," it's time for all bros to unite to make a pact to lie that your bro cheated on that bitch Lucy on the bachelor party. No bro or non bro should ever marry a girl who is not cool with a lap dance. Have fun banging missionary style to a dead fish for the next 30 years, bro. Anyways, the stripper is one of the most important parts of the bachelor party. But she can't just throw her fake tits in your face while "Crazy Bitch" plays. No - she has to do something fucking wild. Bros love telling stories of the craziest shit that strippers did at the bachelor parties. Trust me - if the price is right Vegas strippers will do anything, and will probably cut you a discount for the bachelor.

The Free Hookup - Being a part of a bachelor party is a pretty easy way to hook up. Granted if you are pretty sure you bro is going through with it, you might as well get something for yourself. But, please, this weekend is all about him and you know who will want to hook up with him? How about every fucking girl around. There's no better pickup line than going up to a group of girls and telling them that it's your bro's "last weekend of freedom." How can they not be all over him? They are the forbidden fruit and let me tell you, girls fucking love that shit. Start buying them drinks and boom - your bro is #29 grinding, then one of your bros catches him making out with the slam piece, and the next thing you know your bro is taking the walk of shame home begging everyone not to tell his fiancee.

There is a reason for the distinction of "Best Man." It's because you fucking know what's best for him, and you will never allow him to end his life as a bro. Divorce Rates are rapidly approaching 50%, but last time I checked Bro Rates are holding strong at 100%. God I love being a bro.

23 comments:

Cross
said...

Amen to this post Bro. Marriage is the end of the line for Bros. 3 years ago my Bros and I were rolling about 10 deep every Friday and Saturday night. Today it's more like 2 or 3 deep. Marriage has destroyed our crew. None of the married Bros can even associate with us anymore because their wives won't let them.

I was the best man for my friends wedding a few years ago and since we were still poor college kids at the time, got a trip to Canada organized for his bachelor party. The strippers in Canada will do anything for money, and even better for shitty Canadian money! The groom-to-be got a blowjob in the champagne room for $20 from a stripper who looked like a white Michael Strahan. He still ended up getting married, but only because his wife-to-be didn't care because she felt guilty about being a cum dumpster at her college before they even got engaged.

Don't even get me started bromos. I am 20 years old and my bud just got married...at 21. Fuck man. The bachelor party was fucking epic though. We hit up Chi town and everyone but the bachelor got some slam. But now, after being married for just 4 months, the only thing his wife lets us do with him is some pong at the bro roof in. Yea we got him fuckin hammered, but as soon as we got some easy skanks over, the old lady made him leave and go to bed. The man's fuckin 21 years old and has a women telling him to go to bed. Don't get me wrong, I offered a red bull, but she wasn't having it. Fuck marriage.

The ultimate bachelor party situation is when out at the bars with your bros, you run into a comparably-sized bachelorette party at the same bar. This is basically shooting slampieces in a barrel - as Seth Rogan said in The 40 Year Old Virgin: "There is nothing hornier than a chick who's about to watch her friend get married."

The only obstacle to you and your bros slaying this army of DTF slampieces in this situation is the ultimate bro-hater: The Mother Hen. Every bro has encountered this wretched pig at least once in his life, but for those who haven't - the Mother Hen is the horrid fat ugly girl of the slampiece crew who devotes her miserable life to cock-blocking the shit out of every bro who tries to bang one of her slampiece friends. This DUFF is typically heard uttering the phrase "girls, we came here together, and we should leave here together." Hearing this sentence is the bro equivalent of an air raid siren - a bogey is inbound, and it's time to strap up and go to war.

Dealing with this cow is tricky. Although she certainly deserves any and all insults and degradation you and your bros feel like hurling at her, this can have the effect of angering her slampiece friends and botching your attempts at conquest. The truly brave and selfless bro who looks out for his bros can perform the suicide-bombing of bro-ness: Taking one for the team by flirting/banging said slampig. Doing this is the ultimate sacrifice in the name of bro-hood. There should be a fucking national memorial in Washington D.C. for bros who have banged the Mother Hen in order to ensure their bro's access to slampiece poontang.

Personally, I prefer a diversionary tactic. Once, on my bros bachelor party, we ran into a bachelorette party at the same bar, and I drew the short straw of having to distract the Mother Hen. I restrained my urge to puke while flirting with this heffer, and then told her we should go to a bar by ourselves to talk some more. The prospect of getting some time on the brogo stick was enough to end the Mother Hen's usual objective of ruining everyone's time. I of course had no intention of sealing the deal with this swamp monster, so I told the cabbie to take us to the Sapphire Club. She thought this was some exclusive late-night lounge, but it's actually a strip club in town that I wanted to check out. During the cab ride I mention that I left my cell phone at the bar and I need to borrow hers to text my bros and let them know where I'm going. So we get to the Sapphire Club, she realizes it's a strip club, throws a bitch-fit and starts crying, and waits for another cab to take her back to her friends. What the dumb bitch didn't know is that I lied about not having my cell phone, and only borrowed hers in the cab so that I could delete all her friends' numbers, thus preventing her from calling any of them to find out which bar they had moved on to. This was to eliminate any further cock-blocking interruptions for my bros and their slampieces for the night. While she spent the next hour in a cab failing to find her friends, I went inside and got lapdances for the rest of the night. My bros all got laid, and I didn't even have bang the Mother Hen to make it happen.